


Caged Beast

by Fallenstar126



Series: Dynamite Universe [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: (they aren't all here yet), Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Burning people, Explosions, Fake AH Crew, Kidnapping, Mental Instability, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallenstar126/pseuds/Fallenstar126
Summary: Michael was a man of echo’s and hushed warnings. Some people refused to believe that he truly was there, preferring to keep living their quiet life until it was suddenly interrupted by him, as smoke filled their lungs and their last sight was flames enveloping everything they knew. He could fill a room with his presence, large and commanding when he needed. Even his voice alone seemed to boom like one of his explosives, forcing everyone around him to pay attention.His personality seemed to take up far more space than he ever could. He was tidy, and kept all his stuff together, ready to move at any moment. But this way of living was all he had ever known, and he would never change that. But he never let anyone believe that any part of him was small, he had known that for years now.* Takes place in the Homemade Dynamite Universe, about 2-4 years before Gavin gets there *





	Caged Beast

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE take note of the warnings!!! There's pretty graphic depictions of violence in this piece, and if you're claustrophobic, you may have some troubles, as this story mostly takes place in a very small area.

It was an early morning when it happened. He was caught off guard, and tackled into a burnt out warehouse, blindfolded and gagged. He fought as hard as he could, but the booze from the previous night still hadn’t fully released him from its clutches, so his movements were groggy and miscalculated. 

He was shuffled from van to van, the movements shaking his head which had started to boom. His blood was colder than it had been in years. 

Michael tried to stay calm, Geoff would notice he was missing soon, hell, if not Geoff then Ryan. This had happened before, albeit not to him, but they knew how to deal with these people. They likely just saw Geoff with him, and thought he was a friend, someone they underestimated. His hands would be bound with some zip ties, which he could easily escape, and then he could seek his revenge, if the crew wasn’t here by then.

That was his thoughts, but it seemed that he was wrong. 

He was grabbed roughly from the final van, and he could hear the sounds of water somewhere from outside. Probably by the shipping containers, if he had to guess. He was walked quickly across a span of what felt like dirt under his feet, and then forced into a small space. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it felt like metal at his back as he was forced to sit. 

This was fine, there was definitely still a way he could get out of this, he just had to-

There was a metallic clang that interrupted his thoughts, then the sound of an electric drill. A couple seconds later, there was nothing, from the absolute silence around him, he had to guess that he was now trapped in some small, metal box. As he came to the realization of his situation, his breath began to get quicker. 

This would be a lot harder to get out of. 

His mind was racing as he began to think of ways to get out, but after a couple minutes, it went blank. He had to start at the beginning. 

He began to struggle to get out of his binds, which he had called it, they had zip tied his wrists. They were easy enough to break, despite the small amount of space he had. His legs were next, but with his arms free he was able to break them fairly easily. 

With his blindfold off, and his limbs free, he was able to properly look and evaluate his situation. The space around him was dark, so he couldn’t really see a way out, but he took the time to run his hands over the surfaces around him, until he came to a small hole at the side of the container. It was small, but there were several of them lining the walls of the small box. They were likely so that he didn’t suffocate, so he knew that the people that had taken him didn’t want him dead.

Not yet, at least. 

He continued to feel along the metal box, and found the seam where they had attached another part of the box to enclose him. It seemed to be screwed together, which given what he had heard earlier, it made sense. 

That might be something, but he wasn’t going to place bets on it. He tried to look through the small holes, but there was no light coming through, so he figured he was also in a shipping container. 

“Fucking bullshit.” He spoke out loud for the first time, and his voice was loud in the silence, and made him feel even more closed in. He breathed through his nose to calm himself, then went back to thinking. 

They would notice he was missing soon, they were meeting tonight to go over plans for the next heist, that much he knew. But, it depended on how long it took the three of them to figure out who took him. Would they know? Could they even find out who did it? 

Michael hadn’t even seen his captors faces, would he even know? 

Time passed slowly in the box, as Michael tried to keep himself calm. It was likely he was going to be here for a while, and he didn’t know how much air there was. He couldn’t think about that though, because then his mind started to race again, because what was he going to do if there was limited air supply, would they be able to find him in time, and oh god his lungs were starting to constrict and he swore these were his last minutes on earth-

Michael let out the breath that he was holding. 

He was fine, they would fine him. It was a big city, someone saw what happened, and he only had been missing for could only be an hour. 

During his time, he checked his pocket, looking for anything that could be of use. He came up with a couple coins, his switchblade that he kept in his shoe, and a lighter. He wasn’t surprised his phone was gone, but Ryan might be able to track down whoever took him using that, so it could be to his advantage.

He flicked the lighter on, to take a look at his surroundings, but it didn’t reveal much. The box was a dark metal, with the holes along the bottom as he had felt. The use of sight didn’t really give him much to go one, but it was a comfort. 

Unfortunately, the fire ate up a surprising amount of oxygen, that left Michael gasping and coughing. He dropped the lighter in his struggle, and had to lunge to grab it in the dark, for fear it would slip out one of the holes. They were small, but it could still happen. 

After taking a moment to get his breath back, crouched by one of the holes, Michael truly began to feel the closeness of the space around him. His back was pressed up against the wall as his feet were up on the opposite wall. His head was just barely hitting the top, and he’d never felt so enclosed in his life. 

The hours passed slow, and his body began to feel it. His back ached, and his mind was exhausted. He’d spent the time trying to figure out a way out, but he was trapped.

Eventually, he fell into a restless sleep, but was woken up by a loud clanging, followed by the sound of a screw driver. For a split second, there was light coming through the holes that let him adjust, but he didn’t have enough time before the side of the box was off, and his eyes squeezed shut, hiding from the intrusive light. 

Michael was roughly pulled out of the box, but his body stayed scrunched up until he was forced to stand, and even that was a struggle. He almost tripped over his feet as he was walked around the shipping container. His eyes were left alone this time, but a gag was wrapped around his mouth, and his arms were rebound. 

On the ground, he had a water bottle shoved into his mouth, and as humiliating as it was, he drank deeply. He finished the bottle in a minute, and he saw them throw another one into the metal box.

Once his body seemed to be moving properly again, he was shoved to the ground, and he heard the flick of a knife. He had hidden his own switchblade away when he had no use for it, so his mind raced as he tried to find a way to get his hands free and holding it before he was hurt, but he was far too late for planning now. 

The blade cut quickly, a deep slash down his arm. He bit his cheek to hold back his pain, but it became too much when the pain just didn’t seem to stop. 

His captors hadn’t said a word as they worked, but he could still see their cruel faces as they slashed and cut at his skin. The man's hands were bloodstained, calloused and quick. He knew what he was doing, and that sent fear through Michael. 

The last thing he saw before he was shoved into the box again was a phone. He wasn’t sure at the time why they had it, what they were doing, but now, looking back, he knew it was likely recording his torture, documenting the pain he was suffering. 

Sick freaks. 

The box was bolted backup with no care for him or his wounds. He was left in the dark again, but he knew he couldn’t just let himself sit there. If he didn’t try to patch himself up, he would bleed out. The cut was deep, but if he was able to get to his knife, he could cut a stripe of his shirt as a makeshift bandage. Maybe cauterize the wound with the lighter. 

He heard the door of the shipping container close, and he was completely alone again. 

Michael set to work, freeing his hands quickly and crying out in pain as he had to bend a little more to reach his shoe. Setting it to the side for now, he took out the lighter, and braced himself as much as he could. 

For the first time, he was thankful no one could hear his screams of pain. 

With the wound somewhat cleaned, he washed it off with a lightly dampened piece of his shirt, he set about making a bandage for himself, cutting his shirt into strips. He frayed the edges a little, to make it seem like they weren’t cut, he didn’t want to give away his one leg up. 

Once that was taken care of, he dabbed at his other, minor wounds with the scraps left over from his shirt, and hid both of the objects. Given his small amount of time outside, he went over what he knew so far. 

Discovery number one: He was not at the docks. He was somewhere far outside the city, hidden in trees and bush. He remembered seeing storage crates somewhere in the woods outside of Los Santos, but he couldn’t place his finger on it, and he was unsure if this would affect the amount of time until his rescue. 

Discovery number two: They were keeping him for ransom, which means these people didn’t know the crew very well. This was gathered by the recording, to be used to gather money when Geoff refused to pay up, because why would Geoff pay these dumbasses money when he could just find them and kill them. 

Discovery number three: They didn’t know who he was, that much was obvious by the zipties that they insisted on putting on him. This also included the fact that they weren’t handing him over to the police, which meant it was likely they were a smaller gang trying to make it big in the city. 

Final discovery: They were still highly trained. Given his captors demeanor, and how they handled him, he could tell. Possibly military, but that didn’t make sense. Perhaps it was something based in the government, but he doubted it. If they were military, that means they knew what they were doing, and how to keep him here for extended periods of time. 

Michael began thinking of his escape plan after going over his discoveries, but still found himself with little to go off of. Sure, he knew now that he was likely going to be taken out at times to stretch so he wasn’t permanently disfigured. He may have the chance to lunge at them and take at least one of them out before the second one could get his hands on a gun, but maybe they would bring a third person, and he would be outnumbered. 

Normally, he would be fine, but he was now suffering from a stomach injury. 

Even if he did manage to overpower them, what would he do after that? He was somewhere that he didn’t recognize, and if they happened to have a car, would he be able to find his way home, or would he just get more lost? 

And what if he just waited around? What if they moved him, and he got even more lost? What if they left Los Santos? Would Geoff know where to find him? Would he know how to get back? 

There were too many variables, they began to make Michael dizzy. He was never one for making plans, this is why he always would just follow what Geoff wanted. 

He would always follow his gut when it came to situations like this, but at this point, his gut was a little busy trying not to die, so he was going to just have to roll with the punches. 

With a vague plan, he tried to rest, knowing that he was going to need his wits about him if he was going to pull off… whatever he was going to do. 

The time between the first visit and the second seemed to be a lot longer, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he began to strain his ears for any sign of life, but there was nothing. Just silence.

It was like he was on his own little planet, and he hated it. The air in the box was stale, and he couldn’t move, and he hated it. He began to push at the walls of the box, hoping, praying to any god that would listen that it would just burst at the seams, and he would be free. 

There was no such luck, and there was no end in sight. 

He began to lose hope after what felt like a week of waiting for someone to come back, anyone to find him. He was going to die in this box, a crumpled skeleton with bloody cloth holding together the malformed bones. 

He wondered if Geoff was even looking for him. He hadn’t ran with this crew that long, maybe what he had done so far wasn’t good enough, maybe losing his family wasn’t enough, maybe this was all a set up and he was meant to die here, like his mother, like his brother. He could hear them in his mind, begging him not to leave, not to follow this path. 

He could hear their screams as their home burnt to the ground, could feel the ash between his fingers and in his mouth, in his throat, choking him, burning his eyes, god he couldn’t breath, he couldn’t see, he deserved this, this death, he deserved nothing better.

Michael woke in a cold sweat when something hit the side of the shipping container, a sharp ‘PING’ that rang through his head and rattled his brain. The second one came quickly after, as well as the sound of something large hitting the side of the container, then the ground. There was nothing again for a long time following that. 

The next noise was the shipping container opening, and a new voice speaking. “Oh, what the fuck?” It was confused, and aspirated, but there was something about it that made Michael hopeful. It didn’t seem like the same set of people, but he could never be too sure. 

Carefully, he readied himself for the attack. Grasping his blade in his hands, his wounds screamed at him for the movement, but he managed to ignore them for now. 

There was more noise as the newcomer began to unscrew his box. It was slow, unsure, and every now and then the person would stop, as if talking them out of opening a random, sealed metal box in the woods. 

The moment the second screw hit the ground, Michael pounced. Like a savage beast, he burst out of the box, body screaming and his half-healed stomach wound reopening as he tried to get himself into a position of attack. Before he managed to, his legs buckled underneath him, and he fell to the ground with a sickening crunch. 

It was possible he had underestimated how functional his body would be after days of being crunched in the same position. 

“Whoa, hey buddy, what the fuck?” The newcomer demanded, holding a pistol at his hip, and as Michael began to focus on what was around him, he saw a sniper rifle laying on the ground by the entrance of the shipping container. 

When he didn’t answer, the stranger stepped closer, raising his gun a little. “If you don’t answer me, I will shoot. What the fuck is going on.” 

Michael’s voice rasped as he tried to speak, and it seemed to off put the stranger even more, as he shifted his weight and got a better grip on the pistol. He cleared his throat, and tried again. His voice was still faint, but it was enough. 

“I was trapped here.” He whispered, and the man was shocked momentarily. “They took me-” He began to cough, and his stomach began to hurt again. “They took me from Los Santos.” 

“Who are you?” The man prompted, but lowered his gun. If his crumpled position on the ground was anything to go by, he wasn’t a threat at this point. 

He didn’t have the mental capacity to lie at this point. “My name is Michael Jones, I don’t know who took me, but I work for the Fake AH Crew, if you take me back to Los Santos, I’m sure you’ll be heavily rewarded.” 

The man hesitated for a moment, but nodded, and held out a hand for Michael. He still couldn’t properly bring himself up, but he tried his best, letting out a pained whine as it pulled on his  
wounds. 

“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” 

“I just want to go home.” He gasped, and the man didn’t speak again for a while. He propped Michael up on the side of the shipping container, and picked up his rifle from the ground. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring you back to LS, but I’m going to get my shit, and then I’ll bring my car over here, okay? It’ll take me two seconds.” He didn’t wait for Michael to finish his sentence, and left without another word. The world was a lot darker than it had been last time Michael had seen it, the sun setting somewhere behind the crate, hidden behind a mountain range.

Trying to feel like a human again, Michael tried to stand to his full height, but let out a cry of pain when it pulled at his abdomen, and almost fell to his knees again. 

It was only a few minutes before the man was back with the car, but to Michael, every minute felt like far too long. After who knows how long in that fucking metal box, he had no proper tell of time anymore. 

Once the man finally returned, Michael clambered into the seat, and curled into himself again, protecting his stomach. As they started to drive away, he glanced back at the shipping crate, and saw blood smeared down the side of the wall. Below it was the body of the man who had kept him there. 

He stared at the body until he couldn’t see it anymore, then turned to the man he was in the car with. He suddenly had to weight his options. 

Michael examined the man closely, and found that he was closer to a boy than a man. There was no way that this person was any other than him, a certain air of naivety around him. He was humming along to the radio as they went, occasionally mumbling the lyrics to himself. He seemed pleased with himself. 

It didn’t feel like he was in any danger, and he actually owed this person, if he really did kill that man. 

The ride was slow going as they got out of the forest, and each bump sent pain through Michael’s entire body, and made him bite his tongue to stop a yell of pain. Eventually, they came to a smooth section of road, and Michael felt well enough to talk, to ask some questions. 

“So, who are you?” He rasped out, and the guy seemed surprised that he spoke. He turned to look at Michael, with a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“My name is Ray.” The guy left it at that, and Michael didn’t prompt him to go on. It was a common thing in this business, not to give away yourself too much before you absolutely need to. 

It was another five minutes before Michael gathered up the strength to speak again. “Why did you kill him.” He managed, and Ray glanced over again. 

“Looked like he was guarding something important. Wanted to see what it was.” Michael would have asked why the first thought was to kill the dude, but he likely would have done the same thing. As well, he was taught to never look a gift horse in the mouth.

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, as Michael tried to keep his insides where they started. Ray occasionally would yell along with the radio, which made Michael grin. A pained grin, but a grin nonetheless. 

As they got into the city, Michael began to recognize streets. He began to direct Ray which way to go, and eventually they pulled up to the front of the building. Ray got out first, and went around to open the door for Michael, offering him a hand. 

It was the kindest thing someone had done for Michael in likely days, maybe a week, and he couldn’t help his hands shaking as he took the hand to pull himself out of the car. They moved together to the front door, but they didn’t have to buzz up, because Ryan was there, Ryan had seen them. 

His mask was on, but Michael could have cried at the sight of it from pure joy. He pushed away from Ray towards Ryan, some familiar, anything that felt like a kind feeling was new at this point. Ryan was surprised by the sudden lurch, but caught him easily, supporting his weight with both hands. He felt safe, in the hands of this man who he had watched murder an entire crew in under an hour single handedly, hands who had been bathed in blood more time than he could count. 

Ray cleared his throat behind him, and his mind snapped back to the present. He tried to straighten, but his stomach wouldn’t let him. He turned to Ryan, who was silent as ever, blank mask looking towards Ray. “He found me, in the woods.” 

With a nod, Ryan motioned towards the elevator, then started to move. Michael wasn’t quite ready for the movement, and almost fell again, but Ryan had him. 

He was okay. 

The three of them went into the elevator, and as the doors closed, Michael felt it. 

He felt the air in his lungs being sucked out as his throat closed, the panic clawing up his chest and tearing at his skin, his entire being pushing against his body as it tried to break free from this confined space, from the dark, he couldn’t be trapped again, not now, not here, he just escape, he was free, he was free, he was free-

“Michael?!” Ryan broke through his consciousness, and he realized he was on his knees in the elevator, doors open, and breath rushing through his lungs. “Michael, are you there?” His voice was panicked, and he could hear the exhaustion and panic in his voice. It was an expression of weakness in front of a newcomer, and Michael’s eyes darted to Ray, who was staring at him with wide, scared eyes. 

He grabbed Ryan’s arm that was held out to him, and pulled himself back to his feet. They weren’t at their floor, but it seemed like one of them had stopped the elevator at the nearest floor when he collapsed. 

“I want to take the stairs” He managed to get out, and immediately Ryan nodded, stepping out of the elevator, Ray following close behind. The stairs were a lot slower, but he didn’t feel as constricted, a metal box wasn’t closed around him, he was able to see around him. 

When they finally made it up to Geoff’s apartment, the door was unlocked and Geoff was pacing anxiously in the living room. The second they came in, he looked over, saw a stranger, and it was the fastest Michael had seen him move in a while as he pulled out a pistol from somewhere in the apartment and aimed it for Ray’s forehead. 

“Wait!” Michael gasped out, the yell coming out as a shock even to himself, as he doubled over holding his stomach. “He was the one who found me, I need a doctor.” 

The two most important things out, he collapsed on the couch, and Jack appeared from one of the side rooms. She hurried over where they kept the first aid, and began the tedious process of fixing him up.

“Who the fuck are you.” Geoff demanded, still holding the gun. Ray was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, hands held at shoulder height. “And where the fuck did you find him.” 

“My name is Ray, and he was in a shipping crate, out in the woods by the wood chopping place. He was in this small metal box, I didn’t know who he was, I swear I wasn’t the one who did this, I’m 19 man, I couldn’t do something like that.” 

Geoff didn’t seem fully convinced, but allowed it after glancing at Michael and seeing no emotion that made it seem like he was lying. “What about the people who did take him?” 

“I killed one of them. I didn’t know there was more than one.” Ray admitted, and the suspicion was back as Geoff looked over him. 

“Why? You’re 19, why kill someone?” There was a shuffle as Ray glanced down at his shoes. 

“I-I don’t know man, he was guarding the crate, I wanted to see what was in there.” When Geoff didn’t reply, he continued. “That’s all, I swear.” Ray was desperate, but Geoff knew something else was off. They stared each other down until Michael let out a cry of pain from the couch. 

Jack had started to clean the wound, and the pain was almost too much, as he dug his fingers into his palm to try to stop from moving. He couldn’t focus on whatever was happening around him as the pain rushed through him, spots swimming in front of his eyes as he clenched his teeth. Jack hissed in sympathy, frowning at the wound in front of her. 

At some point, the pain overcame him, and he lost consciousness. When he woke up, Geoff, Ryan and Ray were gone, and Jack was staring at him with concern. “Where are they?” He drawled, looking around. He felt too groggy to be awake. 

“Ray took them to the crate. We’re trying to identify the people who took you, and then we’re going to hunt down every last one of these bastards.” The cruel conviction in her voice almost scared Michael, but he knew it wasn’t directed at him. 

He was told to rest, and not to worry about it. Jack flicked on the TV behind them, and they sat together in quiet for awhile, before Michael spoke up. “How long was I gone?” He asked, and Jack glanced over at him, a small frown on her face. 

“Almost a week. We weren’t sure if we were going to find you alive.” They fell quiet again, and Michael reached for the water bottle that had been placed in front of him. He drank it quickly, and Jack already had a replacement ready for him when he finished. The water was cool, and he could feel it going down his throat. The rest of his body felt like it was burning compared to the water, but he had to shove that thought out of his mind. 

When they returned hours later, Ray was gone again, but Geoff seemed pleased. “Smart kid, Michael. You’re lucky he’s the one who found you. Hell of a shot, too.” He commented as he walked around the side of the couch to sit beside Jack. “I got his contact information, we could use someone of his skills at some point.”

He seemed to be in high spirit, and that gave Michael a little comfort. Ryan immediately went into one of the rooms to begin research, and Michael began to drift again. 

He was safe here, more comfortable than he had been in a while, and he took this time to fall into another deep sleep, the soothing sounds of the tv, Jack and Geoff speaking to each other in mumbles, and typing from the other room. This was home, he was okay, he was safe. 

He dreamt of darkness as he slept, he dreamt he couldn’t move. The dream was keeping him captor, and no one could save him here. 

When he woke, the room was dark, and it didn’t help his racing heart. He scrambled over the arm of the couch, hissing in pain as he went, and quickly flicked the lamp on. Light washed over him, and soothed the panic in his heart quickly. Stupid, he told himself, it’s just the fucking dark, what are you, five? 

The nights continued like that for him, and when he was finally able to return to his own apartment a couple weeks later, he had to take the stairs both down from Geoff’s place and up to his own. He couldn’t get into a closed car for too long, he couldn’t go anywhere that was closed off. After a day at his own apartment, he called someone to come pick him up because the silence was too much. He couldn’t stand being alone, he couldn’t stand feeling confined. 

Michael’s body healed in about six weeks, but his dislike for small spaces never let go of his heart. Everytime he stepped in an elevator, he had to brace himself and try to calm his screaming mind, telling him not to let himself get trapped again. 

It was five months after his recovery that they finally wiped out the gang that had taken him. They were small, but military trained, as Michael had guessed. They had been cast out from the army for torturing innocents, and when they returned to LS, had jumped at the chance to make a name for themselves. 

Ray was by his side when Michael went in. The pair had gotten to know each other more during his recovery, as the sniper would drop in every now and then with gifts ranging from fast food to video games, and their friendship was a quick one. Geoff had explained to Michael what had happened while they were gone, telling him that they were too far out in the woods to even see the shipping crate when Ray had stopped, and told him this is where he had shot the guy that kept Michael captive. 

Geoff had almost extended an offer to join them right then and there, but he wanted to see Ray prove himself. 

When they discovered their hideout, Michael refused to let anyone else come but Ray. This was his revenge, and only he could truly kill the crawling, sickening memories that came forth when he closed his eyes, when he stepped into a confined area, when a room got too dark, too quiet. 

He got Ray to kill the guards first, then take off. This was his to end. 

Once the guards were disposed of, he began to set charges around the entire outer edge of the building. It was overkill, yes, but he felt justified in it. 

No one could keep his rage captive. The beast that had sprung out of him when the box opened continued to grow inside his heart, his mind. It was bloodthirsty, foaming at the mouth and big. It could fill a room with its presence, all in the cold stare of Michael’s eye. 

No one would dare do this to him again. 

When the charges were set, he stepped back to admire his work. He stood a little up on the hill, and pulled out his phone. His eyes were ablaze, staring across the desert at the crumbling warehouse. The sand blew around him like waves, and he watched as someone walked towards the door of the warehouse. 

The figure glanced down at their feet, where the body of a guard lay, and Michael couldn’t stop the cruel, cold smile that grew across his face, pulling his cheeks back in a wicked grimace. 

The figure looked out into the desert, and Michael could hear the cold rush of their blood in his ears. With no words, he clicked the button on his phone, and all at once each of the charges went off. 

The beast roared along with the explosion, deafening him momentarily behind his hearing protection. The flames danced in front of his eyes, and he began to laugh. It was a vile laugh, rasping in his throat as it bubbled up, but he couldn’t stop it. 

The people who had done this to him, turned him into an uncaged wild beast, were burning in front of his eyes. He watched as more figures began to dance in the flames, desperately trying to put out the flames licking up their skin, and he laughed. 

No one would ever be able to cage him, he just wouldn’t fit. His spine would curl upwards and he would catch on the edges, and his teeth would tear the flesh off your skin the second you placed a finger on him. 

He was a beast, and no one would ever tame him. The fire in his eyes would never die.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, sorry if it's pretty graphic. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. 
> 
> Also, this is the way Ray is introduced to the Fake crew in this verse, it's not totally accurate to the actual rl events but like,, its a gta au what do you want from me. 
> 
> If you are reading this and are looking for the Homemade Dynamite sequel, it's coming, I promise!!! School has gotten very busy for me recently, and the only way I could write this is by staying up until 5 am two nights in a row. I accidentally missed one of my classes because of this fic. 
> 
> Speaking of classes, I am putting myself through college, so if you would like to support me, and maybe help me get through more 5 am nights, send me some coffee money! ko-fi.com/humanwreakage


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